


Is and Is No Longer

by Cobalt_Sniper



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe: Post-Game, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4780643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobalt_Sniper/pseuds/Cobalt_Sniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can't even make the comparisons any more, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer.” -David Levithan</p><p>Dave gets in a car crash, causing him to lose his memory. When he starts remembering who he was before, he decides he doesn't want to be like that any more.</p><p>Karkat's just glad he's alive, and that he can blame his inappropriate amounts of pity on what Dave's going through, and not on his own feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is and Is No Longer

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of an ongoing RP. Reviews and thoughts much appreciated!

You can't remember the last time you were this stressed.

Logically speaking, it was probably some time during the game. There were lots of stressful experiences to do with the game.

This probably takes the cake, though.

Dave looks so different like this. You don't know if it's because he's not wearing his shades or because he's not guarding his expression, but he looks so _different_ , it honestly scares you a bit.

Well, that and the fact that he's been asleep for just over a week.

You still don't know the whole story. Apparently he got in a crash on his way back from college. The doctors said it wasn't a bad crash – Dave didn't even have a broken arm for it – but it was still enough to knock him out cold.

It's your turn to sit with him right now, and that's what you plan to do. At least, it's what you plan to do until John comes to take over tonight.

Right now you're texting Gamzee, who has been helpfully keeping you up to date on what you're missing by sitting next to a hospital bed all day. He's good company, even if you can't fully trust him after what you've taken to calling 'That One Thing With The Puppet That We Don't Talk About'.

You're not really paying attention to your surroundings, which, you suppose, is why it startles you so much when someone starts speaking in front of you.

“Uh, hello?”

You almost fall off of your chair, dropping your phone and scanning the room for the source of the voice, your eyes finally landing on…

“Dave!” you lean forward, staring as he opens his eyes, looking around wearily. “Shit, are you okay?”

(And yes, you are going to cop a metric tonne of shit for actually caring, but he just woke up, so you cut the both of you some slack)

He turns to face you, eyes widening almost fearfully. “U-um… Am I D-Dave? And do I know you?”

You frown. Is he really pulling some shit right as he wakes up? “Yes you fucking are. Are you alright?”

“I… I guess… Um, not to be rude, but who… er, what are you?”

Okay, Dave can't keep up a joke longer than ten seconds. Maybe he's got a concussion. It sounds plausible, if a bit strange.

“I'm a fucking Troll, dipshit. What, did you mistake me for some pale wiggler the entire time we've known each other?”

There's no recognition in his eyes. If anything, he just looks more confused than before (if that's possible). “Trolls? Er, am I dead or something? Or hallucinating?”

Quite frankly, the thought of Dave being dead after a week of worry is hilarious for reasons unknown. You laugh.

“Fuck, I hope not. We've been waiting for a week, Strider. What would John think if you just fucking died?”

“John? Look, I’m not sure what's happening, but I just really want to go home right now, if that's okay.” He's pushing his back against the wall, pulling his knees up against his chest.

In all honesty, it takes you far too long to realise.

“Shit. Dave, do you remember anything?”

He shakes his head, but doesn't look up. “Nothing.”

“Shit. Fuck. Just your luck. Look, it's – Dave?”

He's shaking something awful, face pressed into his knees. “Am I dead? Is this some kind of institute, and you're a figment of my imagination?”

You lean forward, hesitating just before you reach for his shoulder. You decide against it after a moment. “Dave. Dave, look at me. You're not dead, and you're not insane. You got in an accident, that's it. It's going to be okay.”

He doesn’t move for a while, but eventually he sets his head on top of his knees, a look of concentration on his face. He murmurs an 'okay' under his breath.

“Your name is Dave Strider, got that?”

He nods, still shaking slightly. “Okay. And you're..”

“Karkat.” He seems confused, as if he's not sure he heard it right. “Kar-Kat.”

“Right, okay. Karkat. And you're… a troll? Are you here to kill me?”

Okay, what kind of ass-backwards logic is he using to assume the guy sitting next to his hospital bed is going to – okay maybe he has a point but _still_.

“Fuck no! Of course not! That'd be all sorts of counter-productive! _Yeah let me just_ _ **kill**_ _the guy I’ve been waiting a week for, that's a smart idea!_ ”

And shit, now he's shaking even more. He looks like he's trying to fuse his chin to is knees, the skin on his neck going even whiter from the pressure.

“I-I guess. Then again, you could easily be lying. Hell, for all I know my name's actually John, and you're brainwashing me to be, like, your slave or something.”

You don't know why, but you almost smile. If he's well enough to crack jokes – you hope it's a joke – then he can't be feeling too bad, at least physically.

“Except I'm not, fuckwit.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I've been sitting here for a week waiting for you to wake up!”

He takes a moment to reply, his brows knitted. It's really disturbing to see all of these emotions playing across his face without his shades to hide his eyes.

Finally he nods, a sharp motion that you would've missed if you weren't paying attention. “Alright. So I'm Dave, you're Karkat, you're a troll, and… are we friends?”

Well, shit, isn't that a question.

“Well, I guess so? A more proper term would probably be _'casual acquaintance who happens to care about your continued existence'_ , but call it what you will.”

He just blinks, like he doesn't know how to respond. Actually, he probably doesn't. “Okay? So, uh, where am I? What's happening?”

Yeah, like you didn't answer _that_ five seconds ago.

“You're in the hospital. You were out for a week.”

“Alright. Hospital. A week. Is my family here? Are my parents here?”

Of course his family isn't here, they're _his family_.

“Your douchebag of a brother stopped by a few times.” You don’t remember him doing much, just staring at Dave and talking to the doctors, but at least he visited.

“Is that it? Like, no other family?”

Oh god you can't look at him any more. He's biting at his bottom lip, his front teeth working at it nervously while he opens and shuts his eyes, as if trying to clear a week's worth of sleep from them, and it's the most fucking pitiful thing you've ever seen.

No, you're not going to think about this any more, thank you very much, you're perfectly fine not ever acknowledging that fact ever again for the rest of time.

“Well, your 'Bro' couldn't come, but that's probably for the best.” You know how he feels about his Bro, more importantly how his Bro feels about him, and he's in no state to have to share the same air as that scumbag.

He's blissfully unaware of how bad his Bro is, it seems, because he just nods again. “So I’ve got two brothers, no parents?” You nod. He nods. “Right. What about that guy you were talking about before. John? Yeah, John. Is he my brother?”

“No, he's a friend. He's been worried sick about you, though. Seriously, it's all he talks about.”

You're not lying. John's practically bursting with worry. You think he could really use a moirail about now, if humans had the concept of moiraillegiance.

“Okay, then. Well, what about me? Do I go to school? What am I like? How old am I?”

His knees are still pressed against his chest, and he has yet to meet your eyes since you realised he'd lost his memory.

“You go to the community college a few blocks away. As for your personality, you're kind of a huge douche.”

You're not really sure how to describe Dave, really. You think you can maybe bluff your way through that part with bad jokes and irrelevant insults.

He just frowns, chin still buried between his knees. “Care to explain a bit more? And what about my age?”

Right, you forgot about that. “You're 23. As for the 'huge douche' part, you're practically the crown prince of irony and hipster douchbaggery.”

“Irony? That's a bit… lame, isn't it?”

And okay now he's staring at you and you don't know what to think because this is _not_ Dave Strider, no sir, there's something seriously wrong.

Maybe you should get a doctor.

Dave seems to take your silence as its own response. He sighs, turning his gaze back to his feet and murmuring, “I'm just saying what I think. Anything else about my _wonderful_ personality?”

You mentally slap yourself, bringing yourself back to the current conversation. “Well, you make music, if you call that a personality trait.”

“What kind of music? Like, rock? Or alternative?”

“Mostly remixes” They're actually not bad. He's got a good following, and people like what he puts up.

“Oh, that kind of stuff.” He's frowning, but the look changes when he looks to your right. “Are those mine?”

Oh, right. His stupid shades.

John put them on the side table the day after the crash. He'd said that Dave would be uncomfortable without something to hide his eyes.

Quite frankly, you think you're more uncomfortable than him.

“Yeah, do you want them?”

“Uh, sure. But what are they for? I mean, I don't wear them all the time, do I?”

This is genuinely weird.

“Well, yeah.” You take the shades and hold them just in front of his face, because you are _not_ putting them on for him.

He takes them from you and pulls them on, still frowning. You thought he would look more like himself with his glasses on, but his face is still scrunched up, his expression too easily read, his shitty hospital gown still seemingly far too large for him.

He takes them off after a minute or two, handing them back to you.

“I can barely see anything in those things.”

You nod, folding the shades and placing them back on the side table. “I always wondered about that.”

He's quiet for a moment, staring at his hands. “So, I like being ironic, I make weird music, and I wear stupid shades?” Before you can say anything, he sighs. “My life sounds like a blast.”

It's your turn to frown now, as you fold your arms over your chest. “Well, John likes some of it. And your music isn't bad, just kind of different.”

“Yeah, whatever. So, can you explain yourself now? Unless I'm mistaken, Trolls aren't native to Earth.”

You really can't help it; you scoff. “That's because we're not. It's a bit of a long story. Some other time, maybe.”

You think he'll push the point. You think he's going to keep asking until you cave in and explain the ridiculously convoluted method through which, via the destruction of two universes, your two species came to exist at the same time.

But instead, he just nods. “Yeah, some other time. Really I want to know a bit more about myself, if you know anything more.”

Thinking about it, it embarrasses you how little you really know about Dave. There's lots of quirks, nervous habits and favourite hobbies, but very little in your think-pan about his _personality_ , his _interests_ , _him_.

“I can't say I know a whole lot other than what I’ve already said. Should I call a doctor, now?”

“No.” His face would lead you to believe that you'd just insulted his shades, or some similar act of treason. “Why?”

“Well, first of all, you _did_ just wake up after a week-long coma.”

“But I feel fine.” He's giving you this _look_ now, this look that says _I am not fine at all but get me the fuck out of this hospital_. “Can't remember anything, which is kinda weird. Like, the sky's blue, the world revolves around the sun, but I don't know a thing about my life. Do I even have any friends other than you and John?”

Don't think about that don't think about that don't think about that

“Well, there's Rose and Jade. They probably know more about you than I do.”

For some reason that statement makes him giggle, like actually giggle, hand over mouth and everything. “Do we all have four letter names?”

“I don't.” Wow, great retort, Karkat, nice one.

And just like that he goes back to sad and depressed, his hands wrapped around his knees in the most pitiful act you've ever seen.

“Dave? You're going pale.”

His face, dumbass, not him, he is not pale in that way

“I'm fine.” No he's not. “Hey, Karkat?”

His eyes are scrunched up, just barely visible above his knees.

“Yeah?”

“Would it be uncharacteristic of me to just burst into tears?”

Before you can say that yes, that would be uncharacteristic of him, he buries his face in his knees and starts sobbing.

His shoulders are shaking and he's making these little noises, kind of like hiccups but drawn out and muted by his legs. You can already see where one tear has run down his knee and left a patch on the mattress.

You rest your elbows on your legs and lower your head to his level. Your hand goes to his shoulder – _It's been doing that a lot lately –_ and you shake him lightly.

“Dave?” Nothing. “Dave.” He shakes his head. “Dave, look at me.”

He looks up, barely an inch, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Hey, look at me. Deep breaths.”

He looks you in the eyes, tears still welling in the corners, and takes a few deep, carefully calculated breaths. He stops shaking, eyes still wide and fixed on you.

“I… it just sucks. You're telling me things and I’m trying to remember and nothing's coming up and I don't seem anything like how you describe me and I...” He's out of breath, shaking again, but not as bad as before.

“Hey, you just woke up. Nobody expects you to fuckin' leap into the world like nothing happened.”

He nods, still staring at you. “Sorry for freaking out like that...”

You shake your head. “Don't apologise, fuckface. It's gonna be fine.”

And _shit_ , now he's looking you in the eyes and you are not at all prepared for this, abort mission, _abort mission_.

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure. It just needs time, okay?”

“But… what if my memories never come back?”

Shit.

The thing is, as much as you _want_ his memory to come back, you've never dealt with this before. For all you know, he's never going to remember anything about anything.

“They will, okay? Anyway, the important thing is that you woke up.”

And then the fucker blushes, his face completely pink. “O-okay… Another question; Did we get along, before this?”

Dave Strider asking the big questions, ladies and gentlemen.

“I don't even know. I mean, we talked? And we could tolerate each other, but…”

He's got this look on his face, this look that says _'I accept this but do not enjoy this'_. “Oh. After this, can we be, like, actual friends?”

At this point you've transitioned through confusion, anger, and worry, and have settled firmly on embarrassment. You look away, nodding firmly at the wall. “I mean, yeah? If you want to be?”

And he smiles, wide and happy, as if being your friend is the ultimate end-goal of the universe. “Okay. Thanks for being here.”

With a smile like that, of course you have to return the favour, so you let your lips curl up slightly, in what could almost be called a smile. “No problem, Strider. Thanks for waking up.”

And now he's blushing again, but not in the same way, and you can see the way his eyes drop back to his lap. “Uh, can we not talk about… So, what do you like to do?”

And his voice goes up about fifty fucking octaves, nervousness so obvious it's almost scary how quickly it appeared.

“Hate to tell you, but my life is about as interesting as those curtains.” You point at the drapes, separating Dave from the empty bed next to him. “Really, I only do anything interesting with other people.”

It's true, you can't remember the last time you did something interesting or important on your own.

“C'mon, you've gotta like something. Movies? Reading?”

“Oh, a metric fuck-ton of reading. I wouldn't call it interesting, though, it's mostly shitty romance.”

“What, like Twilight?”

“Oh, God no! Fuck no! Never ever ever!”

Well, at least your outburst's distracted him from his problems. Now he's too busy giggling into his knees to be upset.

“Well, what do you with your friends?”

“Which friend?”

It's a valid question, really. You tend to just do what your friends enjoy. It doesn't bother you much, really.

“But, like, all twelve of you in a room, what would happen?”

“Well, I'd probably just – wait.”

Did he say…

“Twelve?”

For a few quiet moments he just looks confused, but eventually his entire face lights up.

“There are twelve of you, right?”

“Oh my god, Dave!”

You realise after a moment that you didn't answer his question, but the look on your face must tell him he's right, because he starts laughing, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I remembered something! Oh my god!”

You're embarrassed to say you freeze, your face redder than you think it's ever been. You're happy for him, obviously.

You just wish he'd stop hugging you.

He must realise you're not hugging him back, because he pulls away after a moment, and it's slightly satisfying to see that he's as red in the face as you are.

“Uh, sorry.”

“It's fine, don't worry about it.” _Don't think about it either._ “But this is great!”

“Yeah! Like, it's a weird thing to remember first off, but it's something!”

“A weird memory for a weird human.”

“I'm flattered, Kit-Kat.”

“Oh god, not _that_.”

He frowns, as if unsure of how to respond, so you explain. “You used to call me that all the time. You used it more than my actual name.”

He had. It was never 'hey, Karkat' or 'yo, Karkat, check this out', it was always 'Kit-Kat'.

“Oh. Uh, alright then. What else should we talk about?”

“I honestly do not give two shits about what we talk about.”

“Then, uh, can I ask you a question?”

“I don't see why not.”

He shifts, not meeting your eyes, his face still flushed.

“Is it weird that I’m remembering random things? Like, what about my friends? Or the trolls? Who else do I talk to?”

Looking back, you really wish he hadn't said that.

In the ten minute conversation that followed, you realised that he only vaguely knows anyone, if he knows them at all. You can understand that he doesn't know a thing about Eridan or Feferi, but he barely remembers Terezi or Aradia. You don't bring up Vriska.

He meets your eyes again and smiles a barely-there smile. “I know I’ve said this about a million times today, but thanks.”

He has tears in his eyes, and you think he's going to cry again, but instead he pulls you into another hug. He buries his head against your chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

You're not sure how to respond to that, so you just awkwardly hug back and hope your blush isn't too noticeable.

You can feel his chest heaving, so softly it's barely noticeable, and you know he's going to say something.

“I don't want to be who I was before.”

_Shit._

You'd noticed, obviously, that he didn't seem the same. He expresses too much emotion, and doesn't seem at all interested in the things you've told him about himself. But to purposefully not want to be the same?

Well, yeah, you can see where he's coming from now.

You can't just tell him he can't change, though. If he hadn't lost his memory, you wouldn't have any problem at all with it.

“Nobody has to be who they used to be. If you want to be someone else, go ahead.”

But of course, memories or not, this is Dave 'Hit The Nail On The Head' Strider. “But everyone's gonna expect me to act the same… But I don't want to be fake again. I want to be _real_.”

You sigh, drawing the breath out for longer than is technically necessary. “I can't tell you what to do. If you want to, go ahead...”

“Thanks...” He stares at his hands, one finger tracing his fingers where the skin is tight against the bone. “Hey, Karkat?”

“Yeah?”

The next thing you know you're leaning towards him, his lips pressed softly against yours. It's tentative and cautious, and neither of you try to make it anything more than it already is.

It's fucking perfect.

After a moment that's both excruciatingly long and far too short, he pulls away, blushing. You realise maybe you weren't meant to like that so much.

“Sorry...”

That just makes him blush more. “Don't be. It was… I liked it.”

“Oh.” Apparently it's your turn to blush. You suddenly notice a very interesting strand of hair on your sweater, far more worthy of your gaze.

He laughs again. “You're cute...”

Okay, _fuck_ that. “I am not!”

“Are too.”

“Wow, childish much? Shut up, Dave.”

“Make me.” And then the fucker sticks out his tongue.

You're not sure which part of your brain to curse for what you do next, but you lean forward to catch his lips again, and that seems to do the trick.

If it's even possible, this kiss is better, both of you just relishing the feeling of your lips against the other's.

Eventually he pulls away again, not blushing as much as before, and asks, “So when can I leave?”

You're thrown by how calm he seems, smiling lazily, eyes half-lidded. “Well, the doctor said you weren't toO injured, maybe a few cuts and bruises. I could ask, if you want.”

“Could you?” He looks up at you and of course you are, if only so he'll stop giving you that look.

“Ah, yeah, just a minute.” You stand, backing out of the room. The doctor – Isaacs, Dr Isaacs – is in the hall, just come out of a room a few doors down. He sees you and walks towards you, smiling.

“Oh, hello. Karkat, wasn't it? Yes, that's right. What can I do for you?”

“Um, Dave – the guy from the car crash last week – he woke up, and, uh -”

“He woke up?” you feel a bit better about your reaction when you see the look on his face. “How is he? Is he coherent?”

“Um… He seems fine. A bit dazed, but...” you wonder if it's a bad idea not to tell him that Dave lost his memory, but you know he'll want to keep Dave here for longer. “He wants to know when he can leave.”

He pushes past you to look into Dave's room. Dave looks up, but doesn't say anything. After a moment he looks away again.

“Well, he _looks_ alright. I suppose he wasn't that hurt when we brought him in.” he nods. “If he can stand up and leave, he's free to go for now.”

You're about to thank him, but he just walks away. You stand there for a moment, confused, before stepping back in.

“Well?” he's looking at you now, his gaze almost intimidating, but only almost.

“If you can stand, you can go.” You take a step forward with the intention of steadying him as he stands, but he gets up almost instantly, wobbling slightly before getting his footing. “Well. Do you need a hand to walk, or…?”

“No, I'm fi-” he takes a step forward and almost cracks his head on a chair, but you get an arm around his shoulders before he can fall. “Yeah, that'd be nice.”

You get him propped against the wall and take out the bag of clothes John left for him. He pulls the boxers up under the gown and steps into the jeans before he pulls it over his head. You pointedly avoid looking at him while he puts his shirt on, but when you do, he looks somehow smaller. His shirt is a little baggy, probably because he hasn't eaten in a week, and his messy bed-head is completely at odds with the stylistically dishevelled look he normally goes for.

“Small steps.” you wrap an arm around him again and guide him slowly out the door and down the hall. He doesn't seem to have trouble staying upright after this, so you assume he just isn't used to walking after being asleep for a week.

The short walk through the hospital is much slower than it would be without Dave, but you're rewarded for your efforts with a kiss on the cheek as you unlock your rust-box of a car. You settle in front of the wheel with a red face and an amused passenger.

As you pull away from the hospital, you think to yourself that you're glad you were there when Dave woke up.

 


End file.
